


Unfinished

by orphan_account



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fic Dump, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6685780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dribs, and Drabbles, and Plot Bunnies that I posted on tumblr anonymously or in other capacities. Some stuff that has never seen the light of day too. Rated Mature for the very last chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Library

The doctors pull away and in moments Ichabod is across the room. The water is still in her clothes and hair and he wishes it away. He can still feel the cold slick of it against her skin under his fingers. 

Behind his back, his hands tighten around the book, fingers itching for a purchase they aren’t quick to find. At a loss, he falls back on pleasantries. She looks well despite it all and he says so.

She smiles up at him, her hair awry, framing her perfect radiant face and it leaves him reeling anew. 

He almost lost this. 

He blinks, his chest and throat ache. He is seconds away from launching himself into her arms, burying his face in her lap, and begging her to never go where he can’t follow. Every inch of him is straining, aching for her, the treacherous words already heavy on his tongue. 

But he can not and he will not. He can protect her from this.


	2. Halloween

How Jenny managed to drag her and Ichabod to Hawley’s glorified pontoon boat of home for a Halloween party is beyond her. She vaguely remembers guilt, lots of guilt, but she’s currently two shots deep into the tequila bottle between her and Hawley and that’s beginning to feel like a distant memory. 

Hawley leans into the space between them and flicks one her black cat ears.

“You know, for a costume you obviously put together last minute it really works you” he says smiling crookedly.

Abbie peers at him over her dark shades and flicks up the collar of her leather jacket.

“Cool Cat Abbie is not a costume.”

Hawley sputters around his drink and reaches for her glass laughing. He fills it to the brim and slides it back across the small table.

“Oh my god. Keep drinking. Please, keep drinking.”

Smiling, she sips at the tequila and considers Hawley.

“Gotta admit, a pirate is pretty damn fitting and the eye patch is particularly fetching.”

Hawley bites his lip and leans in again just as Ichabod slams down into the couch beside her.

“A horrible woman just accosted me on the way to the restroom. Of all the wretched - "

“Woah, Crane.” she says chuckling. “What’d she do?”

“I’d rather not speak of it.” he says, scowling.

“Did she get handsy?” she asks, smiling widely up at him. 

“I wish you wouldn’t make light lieutenant.”, Ichabod grimaces. 

“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if we took our leave.” he says, casting a wary glance at Hawley who was already preparing to protest.

“Aw, but the party is just getting started.” Hawley says, eyeing Abbie intently from across the table.

“Hmm” she murmurs, casting her eyes out over the party. 

Garish lights and cobwebs had been strung up along rafters. The music was loud and thumping, but the if noise and lights dotting the waterway were any indication, it was bothering no one. 

The platform’s floor had been cleared to make room for a dance floor and a large enough crowd was currently enjoying themselves doing exactly that. It wasn’t really her scene and she realized that she didn’t know anyone here. Half tempted to skip out with Ichabod, she searches for Jenny only to find her grinding up on a very appreciative stranger and she’s torn between being worried or happy to see Jenny clearly having a good time.

She looks up at Ichabod, “Sorry, Crane. I think I’m going to stick around.”

Hawley hoots and raises his glass in appreciation.

“Do you want me to call you cab? You don’t have to stay.” she asks Ichabod, but he shakes his head and eyeing Hawley over the collar of his great coat as he is yet again filling Abbie’s half empty shot glass.

“No, I would be remiss to leave you here amongst such... unseemly behavior.”

“I can handle myself you know.” she smirks up at him.

“I know, Lieutenant. Still.”

“Well, if you are staying then you are drinking.”


	3. Yoga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabbie drabble from Season 2 - in response to the yoga promo.

If he had been frustrated before he was doubly so now. Intellectually he understood the benefits of such exercises. The focus, the discipline over the body should extend into the soul. However, he was finding himself having to discipline entirely other… areas of his anatomy all together. 

And how exactly was he intended to focus when with each passing moment he was greeted with a new tantalizing position in which to appreciate the very generous curves of Abbie’s body. How many times now has he had to drag his eyes away from her glowing skin, her lips pursed with effort, the muscles of her midriff as she arched forward, her chest, her legs, her backside. 

Worse, there was small part of him it enjoying it immensely, already finding the right words, the correct expressions, the perfect playful moment that would send the tension between ratcheting ever higher. This was Hell. He was the worst kind of rake. He has to put an end to this.

Quite done, he stands and apologizes. 

Abbie shoots him a look and then reaches for a towel, runs it along the elegant line of her neck and collar bone. Ichabod distractedly realizes he is still talking. 

“Fine.” she says smiling and laughing, tossing the towel at him. He catches it and is immediately reminded that knights were once presented with handkerchiefs as tokens of their lady’s favor. 

“Yoga doesn’t make you feel better.” she says and something in her tone has him looking up from his absentminded folding. 

She gazes up at him from beneath her lashes and he is caught yet again in the allure of her eyes and skin and mouth. 

“What would?” 

And for a moment he is truly lost because he knows exactly with full clarity what would make him feel better and it would be taking his partner against wall of his shower, laying her out right there on that mat and eating her to completion, kissing her awake from the comfort of his bed on the morrow’s eve. 

But he would settle for a beer.


	4. Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non Canon Compliant - Season Two - Katrina mention

Abbie isn’t exactly a fan of Ichabod’s new living arrangements. In one fell swoop he had not only made retreating to the archives feel awkward and intrusive, he had managed to deny her the small comfort of Corbin’s cabin as well. At least before she had something close to visitation rights. 

So it was an unfortunate realization that she had left her keys in the archives in the hours before she had taken the late shift. 

Abbie sighs, searching through her locker one last time and then reluctantly making her way down to the tunnels, praying she doesn’t wake him or catch him half dressed and binging on ice-cream and Netflix like she had before the partitions had gone up.

The archives room is quiet and still, and thankfully softly lit by a few lamps. A quick peek around the door and Abbie is sure Ichabod is sound asleep in his cot. She tip toes past his ‘room’ making her way to the large wooden desk in search of her keys. 

Abbie finds them quickly enough under a stack of loose papers but before she can make to leave she catches sight of some notes Ichabod had taken in her absence.

She pauses, her eyes scanning the page, trying to connect the ‘Roles of Fell Demons in the Ritualistic Summonings of the Great Beasts of the Third Age.’ and the power vacuum that opened up in the wake of Moloch’s death. 

But then from behind the partitions Ichabod groans and Abbie nearly jumps out of her skin.

“God damnit,” she breathes, eyeing the thin walls blocking her view of his cot.

He groans again and Abbie can hear his body and the blankets shift.

“Wait, wait,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “My wife.”

‘Oh,’ she thinks ‘Nightmares’ and she catches her lip between her teeth. She is tempted to wake him actually. To maybe knock over a mug or something she can pass off as an accident, but before she can make up her mind he is at it again. The groaning is louder this time and something sinks in her stomach.

Abbie sighs. Yeah, she is going to wake him, but not with a overturned mug. Why can’t she do anything easy? Steeling herself, makes her way to his room.

She is stepping towards the partition when out he lets out another moan. Her body already through the gap as he starts murmuring curses. She sees his hands gripping the bedsheets first, his brow furrowed and then his hips twitching, his cock hard and straining against the fabric of his boxers, a spot of precum already staining the front.

Abbie’s stops dead in her tracks, her eyes wide. 

“No,” he murmurs “No, don’t stop. God, Abbie.”

And Abbie has a second to recognize the the fire twisting low in her belly and then she is moving, frantic to leave, but only managing to back up into the partition nearly sending it to the floor. Her keys slip from her grasp, crashing to the tiles and Ichabod is awake in an instant. His eyes darting from her keys to her and finally to his crotch.

“Good God Abbie!” he exclaims, pulling his blankets into his lap.

Abbie is very painfully aware of her back and palms pressed flat against the partition. She takes a deep breath, straightens, and makes to pick up her keys.

“I’m sorry,” she says “I’m leaving.”

“Why were you here?” He is damn near bellowing and suddenly Abbie filled with a red hot rage. She turns on her heel, eyes narrowed and hands clenched.

“Oh fuck no! This is where I work!”

“And this where I Live! Are I not warranted at least the semblance of privacy?!”

“If you want privacy, go home to your fucking wife Crane!”

Ichabod’s eyes narrow and he practically bites out the words that follow.

“I think we both know after this invasion, that its not my wife that I want.”

And in that moment Abbie might want to murder him, but she wants to fuck him too. God, it is fucked up but she’s wet and she wants him. She lets her eyes rove over his body, imagines walking over to his cot, straddling his hips, and riding his cock until he can’t string two words together. She imagines pulling on his hair and biting at the skin of his throat. She wants to punish him. She wants to self destruct in his arms. But she can’t and neither can he and he is a dick for even speaking the words into being.

She watches Ichabod read her, watches the color in his cheeks build, his eyebrow arch, his mouth fall open and the blankets tent in his lap.

And then she tilts her head and smiles coldly.

“Go to hell, Crane”

She turns on her heel and stalks away from him, but as she passes their desk she spies his favorite mug, picks it up and smashes it to the floor for good measure. Fuck Ichabod Crane.

————

She had been tossing and turning fitfully for almost an hour when she hears her phone buzz with a text message. It’s Crane - of course. 

“Did you really have to break my mug?” she reads. And she is tempted to ignore it but…

“I left my keys there,” she types “I thought you were having a nightmare.”

She watches the dots scroll for what feels like forever but the Ichabod’s responses finally flash on her screen.

“I am so dreadfully sorry for all of it.”

“I will start looking for new living arrangements within the fortnight.”

“We do not have to speak of it again if you believe it best.”

Abbie breathes out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, but she can feel the tears building in her throat too. God, she wished she didn’t have to deal with this.

“Thank you,” she types back “And I do.” 

“Are we good, Lieutenant?”

She huffs.

“Yeah, we are good.”

“Good night Abbie.”

“G’night Crane” 

Her eyes linger a moment on her name but she finally puts her phone away and turns over to busy herself with the business of forgetting.


	5. Amber

It took Crane leaving for Abbie to realize just how much had changed. 

How strange that the world had kept trudging relentlessly forward even as she had stood still, enduring and hard. Their mission had become her whole world, an amber prison that had seeped into her very marrow until she couldn’t separate it from her own person. 

And truly, she hadn’t realized how small her cage was until he was gone.


	6. Loss

One morning - barely a week into the still new routine of living with Abbie, Ichabod had woken up to the smell of coffee brewing and the lazy Sunday morning light of a sun fully risen drifting through his bedroom window blinds. The enchanting sound of Abbie’s voice singing sweet clear notes carried through the hallway and warmed him in a way he hadn’t felt in months - perhaps centuries.

Unwilling to rise and break the spell, Ichabod burrowed deeper into his blankets and dared to imagine a thousand mornings just like this, a future for himself at Abbie’s side. Content and warm and heavy, he let his eyes drift closed and was lulled by Abbie’s voice to even sweeter dreams.

Months later, he will hear her singing sometimes, her voice lilting through the darkened rooms. And he - half asleep or half drunk - will pull himself out of his chair or her bed or from the floor. That warmth will return to his chest as he gives chase through their home. 

Then he will turn a corner, her name on the tip of his tongue, and every time he will find the room empty. Every time is just as devastating as the last.

————

Abbie was running, she knew that, had been since she had found Ichabod’s letter and the scales had been lifted from her eyes. 

But she preferred this really to the alternative where she held very still and everything over took her all at once until she was drowning in it. 

She had done that at sixteen and was lucky to escape at all. So she held the lessons of the past close to her heart and made sure that if she was running, it was towards a future where the world was a little bigger, a little brighter and she was made anew - softer, happier, but her own.

Then Ichabod returned and it became increasingly clear that she had built a house of cards. That she had been remade in the image of her father.

It dawned on her that maybe she hadn’t the endurance to keep running forever— that Ichabod or fate might simply set their sights on her again and run faster.

And there was Ichabod so fucking present and god-awfully certain of their place again when he had no right to be. So stupidly surprised that she had moved on without him. So happy to be in her home. 

He would watch her, soft glances across the kitchen when he thought she would not notice, waiting for a sign she wasn’t ready to give.

Still, there were quiet moments where she could almost forget. Ichabod would arch an eyebrow at her over dinner or pull her ankles into his lap as they were watching a movie and it felt so good just to have him back. She relished those moments, cherished each and every one because she wasn’t ready to stop running, not yet. Because she couldn’t undo the past. Because she needed more.

But she didn’t pretend to know what she was running towards anymore. All the roads laid out before her, they all led to loss. And she wasn’t sure how much more she could bear.


	7. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pandabbie within

In those 10 months of isolation Abbie had thought many things but none of them had held her fascination quite as terribly as the question of when she was last held - when she had last been touched. 

And she had remembered and categorized each moment. Picked them apart under the glare of an undying sun. She had embraced Crane not long after his return and it had been warm of course. She had been relieved he had pulled her a bit closer, a bit tighter for just a second longer than she had expected but it was still shot through with words left unsaid and a distance they just couldn’t seem to cross. 

In the span of those long months she realized that memory of him just didn’t suffice even when others could because Crane was many complicated things to her but his touch it didn’t hold the meaning she was longing for, not yet. And fantasies just felt so false there, they echoed madness. 

So instead she remembered Danny with his expert hands touching her until she would spin apart about his fingers, touching her like he already knew her even as she secreted away the darkest parts of herself out of his reach. But time stretched on and even those memories twisted and warped until she saw their true form. 

She thought of Jenny, of Luke, of Corbin but something was missing. Something was itching her way under her skin. An obsession that grew with each passing moment. And in the effort to seek out that one last detail, that one missing piece - she finally lets herself remember the comfort of her mother’s arms, her father’s voice. And in it she saw her future stretched out before her until it was too painful to bear so she shut down. Blocked it all out and went about her business trying to pretend she didn’t ache and need. 

And yet the question remained - How long? And one day as the sand shifted in the enduring quiet, it rose unbidden in her mind, the memory of gentle fingers trailing along the inside of her wrist. A tender touch to her shoulders as knowing eyes gazed into her own. Gentle smiles as she was viciously laid open in a hospital bed. Pandora. Pandora had been the last.


	8. Formation

Abbie tried not to think too hard about the dizzying happiness of being back, of being whole, of being able to touch the still chuckling form of Ichabod Crane — or the strangely intense moment that preceded their shared good humor. Nope, Abbie was definitely not gonna dwell on that instead she was just going to enjoy this. She lets Ichabod loop her arm through his and lead her out of the archives, both of them cracking jokes as if they had just left the bar rather than escaping an eternity of isolation. 

Jenny and Joe trailed behind them, still giggling a bit themselves. Though she could feel Jenny’s gaze on her and the sharp-edged weight it held even in this moment of levity. So when she realizes that Ichabod has led her to Jenny’s SUV and is in fact taking her home she pulls away from the easy comfort he provides with a pat to his arm and then tugs Jenny after her into the back seat to sit close beside her. 

They press in tight tight against each other, their shoulders and thighs touching and Jenny grabs hold of her hand as they duck their heads together too, Abbie feels like they like they are teenagers again, thick as thieves and with a whole world to conquer. There are unshed tears in Jenny’s eyes and Abbie grasps at anything to keep the tears a bay just for a bit longer.

“Hey,” she said, bumping Jenny’s shoulder. “What did I miss anyways? Did Beyonce drop another album.”

Jenny’s laughter peals pure and high through the car. Abbie catches Joe’s bright watery smile in the rear-view mirror and something tugs at her heart. Had Jenny finally done it? Crane glances up from the wheel to meet her gaze and gives a quick nod to the arched eye brow Abbie shoots him in the mirror. 

“Not another album. Just a single, a music video and an epic SuperBowl half time performance. Oh my god, Abbie.” Jenny says pulling out her phone. “You have to see this.”

They spend a good deal of the trip back like this Jenny catching Abbie up and the two sisters laughing and joking in the back seat until Jenny breaks the moment by gently fingering her hair.

“Ten months huh?” and Abbie can see the sadness return to her sister’s eyes. “You look good though. When we get home I’ll help run a comb through it.”

And Abbie hesitates. She has had 10 months to think on duty and happy endings and in truth she can’t bear for Jenny to delay hers another day even, so she leans in close trying for privacy in the close quarters.

“Jenny, you should go home with Joe tonight.”  
“What?” Jenny whispered back furiously. “How do you even know? You’ve been back like all of five minutes.”

Abbie smirks and shrugs as Jenny is shaking her head in bewilderment. But then Jenny dismisses her with wave of her hand.

“Anyways, that can wait.”

“No it can’t.” Abbie says, trying to convey her seriousness without disclosing the thousand times she had imagined Jenny happy and carefree and far away from the witnessing business in that hellish nightmare-scape of a prison. How those little fantasies amongst others had helped keep her whole. It leaves her scrambling for words. “Just thinking that you and Joe started in the shadow of what I did its — Jenny go be happy with your boyfriend.” 

Jenny studies her face and Abbie meets her gaze steadily.

“You are really not going to let me stay are you?”

“Nope.” Abbie says and Jenny laughs.

“Control Freak.” she accuses and then pulls Abbie into a hug.


	9. The End to Satisfy The Story

It is just a moment - a quick flit of Abbie’s eyes, the soft angle of her smile, the light curving around her body just so - but it ricochets through Ichabod’s body as hot and piercing as lead. His stride falters, his purpose forgotten for the tempting vision of her lips. 

She breezes past him, her voice lilting and sultry and he bites his cheek, waiting for the feeling to dissipate - as it had in the past - a hundred rationalizations swirling his in mind. But Abbie distractedly pushes a errant curl behind her ear and the elegant lines of her neck beckon to him, begging to be kissed. He craves the taste of her skin there, wants so desperately to drag his lips across her throat and press kisses along her jaw, hungers for the feel of her lips under his own. 

It occurs to him that this - this is yearning, true and all consuming. Rationalize as he might, she would be the the unfinished melody he will remember in moments of doubt. The lingering reaching ache of promise unfulfilled. And as he gazes at the lush pink line of her lips, imagining her gasping into his mouth as he kisses her, Ichabod knows he is not yet ready to resign himself over to his fate as a haunted man. Not in this.

Abbie turns to him book in hand and then pauses at his demeanor. Her large lovely eyes studying his face, all at once quizzical and unsure. Ichabod swallows hard but even her scrutiny cannot shake the longing he feels. She is the picture of beauty and its dangerous and intoxicating, this warmth blooming in his chest. He steps forward, cups her face in his hands and brushes his thumbs across her lips. She tenses, eyes wide and glistening but she doesn’t pull away. 

“Perhaps we don’t have to think in this…” He all but murmurs as he gazes down at her, his body humming and heavy, his eyes transfixed.

She stares up at him, her eyes close to overflowing. He can feel her body so close to his own, near shaking with what he can only only assume is distress and he almost ends it there. But before he can step away and make his apologies she laughs softly and drops her eyes to his lips . 

“Thats crazy, Crane.”

He leans in closer, feels the electricity crackling between them.

“We’ve done crazier things.”

Abbie hmmms but does not demur and Ichabod no longer able to resist the dizzying allure of her mouth, bends to kiss her. She meets him halfway, her lips searing and tasting of apples. Ichabod was a fool to think this would sate his hunger because this one delicate kiss sends a fire blazing through him unchecked.

And maybe the world does end in a way. Maybe it burns merrily with them but what they build from the ashes is infinity more beautiful.


	10. Delinquencies

Abbie is an early riser and if Ichabod is lucky he’ll wake in time to watch her yoga routine from the door. Her glistening skin and perfect form never fail to get a rise out of him. When she is done, he finally permits himself to enter. He likes to start his day by peeling her out those ridiculously tight clothes, fucking her up against the wall of the sun room and watching the morning sunlight dapple across the sweet curves of her body as she is moaning out his name.

————————————————

Abbie pauses in the doorway, her eyes alight with some new mischief. The elegant lines of her neck and collar bones put on full display. The swell of breasts beckoning his attention. It’s only a moment but he can feel his pants grow tight. Done with her teasing, she turns a bit on her heel and exits the room, her hair swinging coyly behind her. Ichabod considers it, at this juncture there is no way he could not. They are in a suspect’s home, they shouldn’t but even he can’t ignore the thrill that provides. Mind made up, the stalks through after her and eats her out on the man’s kitchen counter.

———————————————-

It’s happens in an instant. The door opens behind him, he can smell the heady scent of her perfume, and suddenly he is hard as stone. It surprises hims as much as it does her. 

“Ready to go there, huh?” she says smiling and standing on her tip toes for a kiss. 

He her pulls up, pressing her soft warmth against him and kisses her deeply in greeting. Then her nimble fingers are reaching for the buttons of his pants and he pulls her from him, setting her firmly on her feet.

“It seems I may have developed a ‘pavlovian response’ to our midday trysts.”

Abbie laughs against his chest and then she has him in hand and he is gasping into her hair.

“Good.” she says and he can’t help but agree.

————————————————

They are working he reminds himself. Very serious things were happening and he had no business staring at his partner’s posterior like a raving lust ridden lunatic. Yet here he was, fingers twitching and mouth gone dry simply because Abbie had bent over to retrieve some files. But her arse really was so incredibly lovely in those jeans, her curves so very generous and god help him, tight that he couldn’t help but stare now that he had no reason to hinder him from doing so. 

Abbie straightens, studying the file intently, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and begging to be kissed. She is such a vision of beauty, her very image a study in temptation that Ichabod quickly loses the battle with his better sentiments. 

Ichabod lets himself come up behind her. He wraps his arms about her tiny waist, tucks her head under his chin, and very brazenly, almost mindlessly, presses the evidence of his arousal against her backside. She stiffens for just moment and he worries if he had misstepped, this was still so new between them, but then she relaxes into his arms.

“Really, Crane?” she says and there is some amusement amongst the chagrin so Ichabod forges ahead.

“I was hoping we could take a small reprieve from our research.” 

He slides his hand from around her waist to cup her arse with his palm, watches her arch back to better accommodate him, and all of it is so sublimely achingly good that he feels his cock twitch with the sensation.

“Mmhmm” Abbie says, her voice low and sultry. “ The desk or the love seat?”

They don’t make it to either. 

—————————————————

Abbie presses her hand to Ichabod’s chest and he wonders how such a simple gesture can still set his skin ablaze. She is already turning to go but he catches her wrist and pulls her close to kiss her. It’s tender, and languid, and wonderfully full. He loves her and when she pulls away he tells her exactly that. She smiles up at him, radiant with love and adoration and Ichabod knows he shouldn’t be so privileged, but thanks the gods anyway. Then her lips quirk and Ichabod is suddenly keenly aware of his stiff cock resting against her hip.

“We don’t have to take care of that right now, little dove.” He says, pressing a kiss to her wrist. He knows she doesn’t particularly care for the forest. But Abbie’s eyes are alight and her smile promising all kinds of misbehavior.

“We should though.” she says, her hip pressing closer against him.

Ichabod makes love to her under the trees and afterwards as the lay breathless in the fall leaves, he turns to her, pulls her hand against his chest so she can feel all that she has wrought in him. 

He tells her his heart beats only for her and has from the moment he pulled himself from the earth and will continue to do so until he returns to it. 

Abbie, her lovely eyes wide and wet, pulls her hand away only to take his and place it over her own heart. She is so very small. Ichabod marvels at his fingers ghosting across her neck. 

“Don’t ever leave me.” she says finally.

He smiles.

“Never.”


	11. Restraint

Ichabod strains hard against the handcuffs. He wants so badly to touch her. Abbie is perched atop his cock, her back turned to him, riding and rocking her hips with his every thrust. He watches as she throws her head back gasping and moaning, as her back arches, watches as her plentiful arse bounces wickedly each time he drives his cock into her, the pleasure burning hot in his gut. 

He’s going to come. 

He yanks again at his restraints. He has to make to her stop. 

“Abbie-guh, Abbie stop.”

She stills, turns to look at him over her shoulder and her kiss-bruised lips and hooded eyes send him helplessly thrusting up into her yet again. 

She smirks and meets him, grinding her hips down onto him as Ichabod’s jaw clenches tight with the effort of holding back his release. 

“I’m getting mixed messages here Crane”. 

“Take the cuffs off.” He grinds out. 

“That was not part of our agreement.” 

Her tone is teasing but Ichabod knows she won’t, he had said he wanted this after all.

“Then come up here.” 

Abbie raises an eyebrow. 

“If you don’t I’m afraid this will end terribly prematurely.” 

“You want me to me sit on your face?” she asks, smiling saucily. 

“Yes God, Please.” Abbie pouts a bit but does as he asks, sliding off him and making to pivot around him. 

“ No wait.” he says, “Not like that. Come to me as you are.” 

He watches as Abbie sucks in a shuddering breath, bites her lip and then backs up.

Ichabod buries his face in her arse and nips at her cheek, at the thin soft skin of her inner thigh. He sucks on her lips, fucks her hot wet cunt with his tongue, his cock aching. 

Above him Abbie moans and writhes as he teases her, until he feels her lean forward and take his cock in deft vengeful fingers. He hisses against her as she strokes him. “Fuck, fuck, fu-” he groans out and finally sucks hard on her bud desperately trying to send her spiraling down with him.

In moments Abbie is coming, her hips rocking against his face with utter abandon and Ichabod is undone, pumping madly into her hand, pleasure coiling tight and hot and desperate until it bursts, her taste exploding on his tongue, her name echoing in his chest and his come spilling hot and messy onto his abdomen. 

Abbie slumps, pulls herself off him and cuddles into his chest, her fingers tracing languid patterns across his belly as Ichabod struggles to calm his ragged breathing. 

“You’ll be the death of me.” he says and Abbie smiles, presses a kiss into his jaw. 

“You ready for the cuffs to come off.” 

“Yes.” 

“Truly?” 

“Fistbump.” he says, dipping down to kiss her nose and Abbie laughs lightly as she reaches for the keys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it I think. lol.

**Author's Note:**

> IDK, I guess I just want all this in one place since its the end and all that.*sighs* Posting as I find them again and polish em up.


End file.
